


Fire Point

by suchanadorer



Series: Indistinguishable From Magic [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Lucifer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Fire point is the temperature at which fuel will continue to burn for at least 5 seconds after ignition.</i>
</p>
<p>This thing between Sam and Lucifer is what it is now. They've found a way to connect that works for both of them. Sometimes it can even be fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Point

**Author's Note:**

> In June I [reblogged a post on my tumblr](http://suchanadorer.tumblr.com/post/53116680435/hurryupmerlin-hba-eqsue-au-where-castiel-and) talking about Lucifer playing pool and flirting with Sam. This started as a draft based on that post, but then this whole series grew up around it, and only now is it getting posted, so if the feel of it is a little different from the rest of the series, that's because this was only ever supposed to be a dirty little one-shot.

_He’s a real asshole,_ Sam thinks to himself. _Like, even for Satan, he’s an asshole, which is saying a lot._

Sam nods to the bartender and gives her a faint, distracted smile when she sets another beer down next to him. It might have been early when they arrived, but now there are people at every table, and more bellying up to the bar, so she doesn’t give him a second thought.

Lucifer is in the far corner of the bar, working. He’s walking slowly around the pool table, dragging his fingers over the bright green felt along the edge and casting glances at Sam from under the garish fake Tiffany lamp. He rounds the corner of the table and leans forward, lining up the shot. Sam watches him from over the top of his glass.

Lucifer shoots. The other two players at the table are busy watching physics work its magic on the pool balls, so they don’t see Lucifer wink before he straightens.

_Such an asshole._

Sam takes another drink of his beer. It’s cold, but not enough to cool off the flush he feels rising on his cheeks. It’s not warm enough in the bar to excuse it. The top 40 music and chatter at the bar fades further into the background as he watches Lucifer play. He’s glad that Dean decided to stay back in the room with Castiel, doing “research”.

“Research”. Right. Just the same way that this, what Sam and Lucifer were doing, was “working”.

Because clearly working involves flirting from halfway across the bar in full view of a bunch of clueless strangers.

Lucifer explained it once when Sam asked. He doesn’t see it as lying. Lying and cheating would be lowering himself to the level of the humans he plays against, and Lucifer is too proud for that. No, this is about using the abilities God gave him to undermine humans and take things from them, which makes it more than okay. It makes it one of Lucifer’s favorite past times.

Sam figures it probably helps that it gives Lucifer time alone with him, driving him to distraction by shifting his hips and rubbing his hand along the stubble on his jaw until Sam’s throat goes dry.

This is the place that Lucifer has made for himself in Sam’s life, and Sam has shifted to accommodate him almost without question. He turned up in a motel parking lot and said he wanted to help return the angels to Heaven. He thanked Castiel for saving Sam from his own mind, and he apologized to Dean for not taking better care of Sam, even though Sam is convinced that he only survived because of Lucifer’s intervention. Maybe they survived because of each other.

When his sense of purpose is not directed towards the Apocalypse, Lucifer is an excellent ally. His devotion to family reminds Sam of Dean. Metatron’s spell hurt every angel in the Host, Lucifer included, but he is the only one powerful enough to strike back. Even after everything they did to him, he is willing to attack Heaven itself to return his brothers and sisters to their rightful place.

But tonight is not about that. Tonight is a night off from seeking out fallen angels and collecting information. Tonight is for blowing off steam.

Lucifer leans back against the near wall while the other two take their shots. One is the tiniest biker Sam has ever seen, but he’s got a gun under his leather vest and he’s friendly enough with the waitresses that Sam figures they’d look the other way if he pulled it. The other is a college age guy with a backwards cap and a penchant for cheap whiskey. He can barely walk without the support of the pool table, and he shoots the cue ball straight into the pocket.

There are blue marks on the back of Lucifer’s jeans from the chalk, and even now he’s sliding his hand up and down the handle of his cue and watching Sam rather than the game. They both know that neither of them give a shit about the outcome. Sam can barely sit still at this point.

Lucifer smirks and looks back at Sam again. The game is almost over, which is good since Sam is just about out of patience. He’s been watching Lucifer hustle pool for the better part of three hours. Three hours of heated glances, suggestive body language, and blatant phallic imagery, all with some money-making inbetween.

Someone taught Lucifer how to flirt, and Sam would like to buy that person a drink. If it is a person. Hell, even if it’s not.

Lucifer sidles up to the bar and orders a beer. The bartender pops the cap off a brown bottle and hands it to him. Lucifer stumbles and presses himself up against Sam’s side in a carefully calculated display of fake inebriation. His hand lands on the inside of Sam’s upper thigh. Sam bites his tongue and squeezes the brass rail of the bar so hard his knuckles go white.

“Ten minutes?” Lucifer hisses in his ear.

“More than five and I’m starting on my own,” Sam snarlls back before pushing Lucifer off him.

Lucifer leers at him, eyes roaming over Sam’s body shamelessly before turning and heading back to the pool table.

Sam doesn’t take his eyes off him as he drains his glass and heads towards the bathroom. He locks the door behind him, closes the lid of the toilet and sits on it. After a moment he’s on his feet again, letting the stall door swing lazily as he takes in his reflection in the mirror.

It’s been weeks of this now, though it’s been months since Metatron threw all the angels out of Heaven, and out of Hell too, as it turned out. Castiel had turned up first, but Lucifer hadn’t been far behind. Apparently he and Michael had been chucked up out of the Cage by Metatron’s spell. Michael had left immediately, leaving Lucifer on his own, and he’d found his way to the Winchesters and told them he wanted to help. No one gets to screw with Heaven on his watch. If they were going after Metatron then he wanted in.

So now the Impala had a backseat full of angels, which was both great and weird at the same time. Dean and Castiel were still dancing around each other, and then there was Lucifer, who seemed to have decided that his inability to possess Sam would in no way hinder him from reminding him that they were meant for each other, and that they should be together.

Lucifer’s nightmares had led to him sharing a bed with Sam, but it had been Sam who chose to take the next step. Lucifer had been a willing participant, though he himself had no interest in his own sexual pleasure. He’d had no idea at the time where it would lead, and while the turn it took with Lucifer’s approach to sex was a surprise at first, they found a way to satisfy each other without anyone doing anything they didn’t consent to. After a couple nights of carefully negotiated experimentation, Sam had been pleasantly surprised when Lucifer lured him into a bathroom and they both discovered the thrill of sex in not-quite public. Lucifer has always been proud, and even this seems to have become a source of pride for him; that he can have this effect on Sam, and that Sam willingly gives himself to Lucifer for it.

A knock on the door pulls him out of his thoughts. One, twothree, four. It’s a shitty code, but since everyone else’s idea of manners is rattling the handle, it’s effective. Sam unlocks the door and yanks it open. In one motion, he pulls Lucifer inside, presses him up against the now-closed door, and locks it again.

“Did you win?” Sam asks. He’s already pushing his hands up under the hem of Lucifer’s t-shirt, and he buries his nose in the hair by Lucifer’s ear.

Lucifer hums and nods, grabbing Sam’s ass to press their bodies together. “Three hundred fifty bucks.”

Sam presses his mouth to the edge of Lucifer’s jaw and works his way down along the side of his neck. Lucifer tilts his head to the side to give him access and tangles his fingers in Sam’s hair as he talks.

“The kid tried to punch me when I went back to the table.”

Sam drags his teeth over Lucifer’s skin and Lucifer’s breath hitches. Lucifer arches his back to grind up against Sam, then shoves his hands in between them and works Sam’s belt open.

“He missed and spun around in a circle,” Lucifer continues. “Fell on his ass. You should’ve--”

Lucifer gives up trying to talk when Sam kisses his again. He opens Sam’s fly and slips his hand inside his jeans. For all that Lucifer is disinterested in his own body, he’s not subtle at all, showing greedy interest in Sam’s body, Sam’s arousal and his desires. Lucifer presses the heel of his hand to Sam’s dick and rubs at the fabric covering it. Sam groans, turns his head so that the sound is muffled by Lucifer’s head.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Sam says as he pulls his head back and kisses Lucifer on the mouth. Lucifer’s eyes go wide, then fall closed as he opens his mouth against Sam’s.

Lucifer pushes away from the door, shoving Sam with him. They turn together, shuffling around in the little room until Sam’s butt hits the sink behind him. He gives a short grunt at the impact that turns into a moan when Lucifer sinks to his knees in front of him. Sam is already so hard that he’s uncomfortable, desperate for Lucifer to do something, anything with him.

Sam casts a quick glance at the door, but it’s still as locked as it’s going to get. Lucifer’s mouth is warm and his breath is damp on the fabric of Sam’s underwear. Lucifer tugs at Sam’s jeans, and Sam shifts obligingly, letting him pull his pants and underwear down.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Lucifer murmurs. He nuzzles the skin on Sam’s hip, mouthing kisses and dragging damp lips along the side of Sam’s erection.

Some day, Sam will remember to ask Lucifer where he learned how to do the things that he can do with his mouth and tongue. For now it’s enough that Lucifer makes good on his word, licking the underside of Sam’s erection before taking the already wet tip between his lips.

It’s incredible, dirty and perfect, and Sam feels his skin go hot underneath his clothes. He growls low in his throat, gripping the cool porcelain of the sink as Lucifer’s hands caress his thighs and ass.

Lucifer takes Sam deeper into his mouth. Sam sucks a breath in through his teeth and lets his mouth drop open when he exhales, a soft, open O of sound that doesn’t make it far enough to echo in the empty bathroom.

Lucifer takes him in agonizingly slowly, looking up at him only to lower his gaze again.

Sam tucks his chin and looks down. From this angle he can see the way Lucifer’s lashes fall on his cheeks. He runs his hand back through Lucifer’s hair to brush it away from his face, leaving his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head. His other hand balances his weight against the sink as he thrusts into Lucifer’s mouth. At first he’s gentle, but the look that Lucifer gives him tells him everything he needs to know. He lets his head drop back and spreads his legs wider, thrusting harder into Lucifer’s mouth.

Lucifer moves his right hand up Sam’s body as if reaching for him, gathering folds of t-shirt in front of it as it slides along his stomach. Sam covers Lucifer’s hand with his own.

“So good,” Sam moans. He’s not gonna last much longer. He can already feel the muscles in his thighs tensing, the heat is his belly coiling. He lets go of Lucifer’s head but grips his hand even tighter, tangling their fingers together as he grabs at the sink for balance.

“Fuck. Oh, just, _oh_.”

Lucifer actually manages to chuckle at Sam’s incoherent babbling, and Sam feels the vibrations all the way up into his body, and it’s amazing. Lucifer’s mouth is warm and soft. He’s sucking so hard his cheeks are hollowing, and when he exhales hard through his nose Sam can feel it on his skin.

Lucifer catches on, making a rumbling sound low in this throat. Sam thrusts harder, doesn’t even try to hold back when he comes. Lucifer guides him through it, not letting him go or giving him any relief as his orgasm rolls through his body. His cheeks hurt from the strain of grimacing to keep from shouting, and he can feel Lucifer’s fingers digging into the flesh of his hips.

Sam slumps against the sink, gasping in as much damp, stale air as he can. Lucifer pulls off discreetly, no lascivious wet slurp or indulgent licking. Sam’s grip on his hand shifts to his wrist, hauling Lucifer to his feet.

Lucifer spits into the sink then turns it on, rinsing his mouth and hands before wetting a handful of paper and handing them to Sam.

“Still think I’m an asshole?” Lucifer asks. He presses himself up against Sam’s back, rubbing his chin hard against the skin of Sam’s nape.

“I think you’re one hell of a tease for someone with zero interest in getting off,” Sam replies. He looks back over his shoulder, then returns his attention to his belt buckle.

“I told you, this is about your pleasure. I enjoy your pleasure. That’s enough for me.”

Sam grins and nods. He still has trouble with the idea sometimes. He was always invested in making sure his partner got as much out of the experience as he did. He believes Lucifer when he insists that he’s satisfied, but this is still new for him.

“Do you want another beer?” Lucifer asks. He moves away from Sam and waits with his hand on the doorknob.

“You think you got another hustle in you?” Sam replies, popping an eyebrow.

Lucifer’s smile is a different sort of predatory now. “After this? Definitely,” he answers.

The corners of Sam’s mouth turn down in an exaggerated frown as he considers the idea.

“Yeah, okay. I could have a drink,” he replies before crowding in against Lucifer’s back. “And after that, we are going back to the hotel room and I am going to massage every inch of your skin.

Lucifer hums contentedly and presses his back against Sam’s chest. “Playing pool does do a number on my shoulders,” he says.

“Then I’ll start there,” Sam whispers, his lips almost touching Lucifer’s ear. It’s a new type of dirty talk, cuddling and caressing instead of decidedly more carnal promises, but these are the things that Lucifer enjoys sharing with Sam, so these are things that he talks about instead.

Lucifer unlocks the door and tugs it open. Their weight resting against it has wedged it tight into the frame. He gives Sam a kiss before leaving him standing in the doorway.

“Don’t forget to flush,” he calls out over his shoulder as he heads back out to the bar.

Sam laughs and shakes his head, but does as he’s told, pushing the handle on the toilet before following Lucifer down the short, narrow hallway, back out to the main room. Lucifer has already pulled three guys into a game at a table in the corner. Sam gestures to the waitress, who gives him a knowing once-over, but opens another beer anyway, sliding back into the same bar stool as if nothing even happened.


End file.
